


Cadence

by TuanTaureo



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuanTaureo/pseuds/TuanTaureo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cadence of love between two royal sisters. An observational drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cadence

There is a certain cadence to their affection for one another.

There are the days where one wouldn't be able to tell them from any other endearing sibling pair, where they laugh and smile and argue like sisters are wont to do; where the queen glances with a crooked smirk at her princess as the latter struggles to stay awake through endless, mind-numbing diplomatic meetings; where the princess hovers impatiently around her queen as the latter draws the final signature onto yet another documentation of the labyrinthine trade agreements that maintain the kingdom’s coffers; where one can hear just as often the princess’ disgruntled groan interjecting her sister’s calm remarks, as the queen’s defeated chuckle when her sister drags her off with a characteristic giggle of delight all her own.

There are those days where the moment the first silver platter clatters to the floor alongside a stifled invective, the household attains a whole new level of attentiveness to their surroundings; where surreptitious glazes of perfect transparency force the retainers into meandering paths through the corridors; where frozen fractals spiral onto the walls and ceilings and leave the maids scrambling for their cleaning cloths to capture the meltwater before it runs down tapestries and wallpapers; where the sharp staccato of the queen’s heels becomes a klaxon alarm that sends every servant skittering out of sight like frightened forest game, and the firm patter of the princess’ gait following closely behind is a blanketing quilt to soothe the collective apprehension towards their sovereign’s flaring temper.

There are those days where their voices rise like unto great squalls of fury and matching wills; where their shouting duels are only quelled by that one last-ditch swerve away from the razor icicles of hurt and betrayal; where the ensuing silence weighs heavy with guilt and embarrassment, and gratuitously evaporates like a late spring flurry caught in the early summer sun’s merciless touch.

There are those days where they are nigh inseparable, virtually joined at the shoulder and hip; where catching sight of one immediately begets the presence of the other; where they walk and talk and sit and murmur, threading hands and fingers and knocking knees; where gentle tugs and nudges complement quiet words and low timbres that weave an impenetrable web of closeness and comfort around them as securely as a solid wall of flying snow.

And then there are those days where the static between them is like unto the metallic aftertaste of a looming thunderstorm; where the tension thrums through the air like a great chord struck on a gargantuan harp; where glances linger and gazes smoulder, yet neither touches the other out of a visceral awareness of how quickly their resolve will crumble once they do; where meetings are hurriedly concluded and adjourned and no-one speaks up nor dares look at them; where the joint evening supper ends with swift footsteps through the passageways leading to their personal quarters, and the queen’s door - it is always the queen’s - slams shut with a pointed finality that ricochets back and forth through the floorboards and releases the built-up potential like an ignition spark leaping between charged metal plates.

Those are the nights where the fabric of their regalia sloughs off them like thawing snowdrifts off a steep cliff; where pale alabaster tangles into warm strawberry blonde and light copper tan into brilliant silken platinum; where the universe around them compresses into the thunder of their pulse racing in tandem and the heat of their breath in each other’s throats as the spoken tongue surrenders to the wordless language of hands and lips and skin and warmth amidst tangled sheets and twined limbs.

Those are the mornings where both sisters are late for their appointments; where early meetings are better left postponed or cancelled altogether; where the subsiding radiance of their afterglow remains a palpable aura long into the afternoon; where the retreating fire of their hearts emboldens them to the point of sharing brazen caresses and conspicuous embraces in plain sight that the rest of the household has long since learned to tactfully ignore.

No-one asks them any questions, and they tell no-one in return.

Only through the cadence of their love for one another.


End file.
